Siberia
by Saphira112
Summary: Jezebel once more endures the senseless whipping by the Cardmaster. Cassian can’t take any more of Jezebel’s spiel that justifies the fact he’s a trained bird blindly stuck inside an open cage. Cassian/Jezebel


**Title:** Siberia

**Author:** Saphira112

**Section:** Godchild/Count Cain

**Word Count:** 2,725

**Pairing:** Cassian/Jezebel

**Warnings:** Slight swearing, child abuse, bit of blood, bit of angst, shounen-ai/yaoi

**Summary:** Jezebel once more endures the senseless whipping by the Cardmaster. Cassian can't take any more of Jezebel's spiel that justifies the fact he's a trained bird blindly stuck inside an open cage and he "somewhat" confronts the doctor about it.

**Note:** I personally think the ending was rushed and I mean REALLY rushed, but hey, it's my first Cassian/Jezebel fic and quite frankly, I forgot how to keep them IC. Forgive the OOCness. Many thanks!

**Recommended listening:** Spiritus Domini by Gregorian Chants (subject to change)

Siberia

One-Shot

It wasn't as if he had never heard that sound before. He had many times before. The sound of the air being sliced in an arc, slamming down upon a fragile back, tearing white skin with sharp teeth already stained deep crimson. He'd heard the sound way back when, the time that he'd been on the other end of such a punishment for any small thing. Yes. And although the whipping had ceased long ago for him when he'd run off, he could still feel his back and chest aching – despite it wasn't he who was being punished – as the whip came down on another person's body in just the other room over. Why didn't the man say anything? Why wasn't he asking the Cardmaster to stop? Why wasn't he making any noise, show his pain? Did the man _enjoy _the abuse; love the feel of the sharp sting against his marred back, feel a sense of delight as the whip drew his blood like a vampire from the far-fetched fairy tales in libraries across London?

'_God damn him...'_

Cassian wasn't sure if he was referring to the Cardmaster or Death.

Cassian almost flinched as the whip came down again on Jezebel's back, criss-crossing old scars and new wounds given to him just hours before. The doctor made no sound, his narrow eyes now dull and impassive, and his face drawn into an expressionless mask. Cassian knew how big of a farce it truly was. Despite his short height and not being able to see into the room well due to just peeking through the cracked doorway, the trump card could plainly see Jezebel's face and knew it was a mask from just that one look. He had seen what Jezebel was like when he was caring and emotional. He had seen it when he let go of the dog he had brought back to life. The serenity and peacefulness in his eyes was proof enough that the Jezebel from that time was behind the mask of the Jezebel now in the other room and that it _existed_.

The whip came down again, hitting Death's back with more force than before and it was hard for Cassian to witness for much longer. How long had this been going on now? Hours, at least. And yet, Death never asked for the master to stop. He just kept taking it... and taking it...

And fucking _hell_ if Cassian was going to stand there any longer just _watching_ it!

The trump card's hand snapped out on its own accord, throwing open the cracked door to the chamber. With speed he hardly knew he possessed, he ran into the room, unseen by the observers – even Moon, who had been watching him the moment he had flung open the door. Her hand went to her waist, as if to draw her weapon, but the Cardmaster shook his head, as if saying to ignore the child, and the whip came down again.

It didn't hit Jezebel anymore.

It took all of Cassian's will not to cry out and give satisfaction to the Cardmaster as the sharp whip cut through the air and found its way around his arm, propelled by the momentum and gravity. The quick speed of the whip tore through the sleeve of his shirt and dug into his skin, breaking it, and staining his arm scarlet. Cassian grit his teeth, wincing as any movement on his behalf caused the whip to dig deeper into his arm, the pain exploding up his arm like a scalpel running around his veins and poking fun at them. Though Cassian winced, his dark orbs came up to glare at the Cardmaster, reflecting his defiance despite the throbbing of his exposed skin, his short, wild black hair flying around his eyes.

If the Cardmaster was surprised at this display of both courage and foolishness, he didn't show it. Instead, a smirk was forming on his face. It was a cold smirk, laced around the edges with ice, filled to the core with snow – very much like the snow falling outside. He was amused! The sick bastard was _amused_!

The Cardmaster straightened and slackened his grip on the whip, letting it unwind on Cassian's arm before he snapped it back. Cassian fully expected him to begin whipping again, but he didn't. Instead, he rolled up the weapon and handed it to Moon. "Well, Jezebel, I think we're done for the day. Run along now."

Cassian still stood on the defensive, even when the Cardmaster and Moon and exited the room, whip in gypsy hands and a smirk on a man who thought he could be God. Cassian only let up a little when the door slammed behind them. Forgetting the stinging in his arm and the blood slowly dripping to the floor from his fingertips, the trump card turned and was faced with the doctor's scarred back. The bloodied arm came up and lightly touched one of the older marks.

There was no initial reaction.

Cassian's eyes narrowed. "Why do you let him do this to you?"

Again, there was nothing; no movement or verbal response.

Cassian frowned. "I'll stitch these somehow and—"

"Leave them."

Cassian looked up. Those were most definitely _not_ the first words he had wanted to hear from Jezebel's mouth at the moment, but they were at least words. And Cassian knew that those words were begging to be argued with. It was only up till now that the trump card realized what Jezebel was doing to himself.

"They'll become infected," he persisted. "You know that."

"They're not so bad as to require treatment."

Cassian frowned. "Say that again and I swear I will hit you." _'Despite that it's the last thing I'd want to do to you.'_

The doctor fell silent and Cassian sighed before he leaned down, gathering the discarded jacket and shirt and he placed them on a chair in the corner of the room. Reaching into his pocket, the lower-level card pulled out a black ribbon. He'd always carried it around for a need and he may as well use it now. Apparently, the Cardmaster thought it to be amusing to see to it that the door was locked. Cassian put the ribbon in his teeth, thinking. That didn't count the windows, but hell if they led anywhere out of there...

Cassian came up behind the doctor and without a word, took the silvery locks in his hands, admiring the silken complexity for a moment before he began to comb through it, frowning when it came to the ends, which were stuck together with dried blood. Jezebel, who would normally have protested to such an action, remained silent. To avoid an awkward moment, Cassian took the ribbon from his teeth and used it to tie a quick ponytail at the base of the doctor's neck and he pushed it over the strong shoulder, exposing the marred skin from neckline to waist.

There was more damage than he thought. There were deeper scars up by the shoulder bones and base of the neck, a few of them fresh while the others were days old. Cassian's injured arm – the wound now clotted and dried – came up and let his hand hover over the scar at the base of Jezebel's neck, as if clinging to some childish hope of erasing it. He felt anger well up inside him, though like earlier, he couldn't tell if he was angrier at the Cardmaster or Jezebel.

Feeling the presence of the impervious hand, Jezebel glanced over his shoulder. He looked at the low card's dark eyes filled with anger. Then Jezebel saw the injured limb. "That strike was not meant for you, Cassian."

Cassian looked up, his shadowy eyes still glaring as his dark hair fell down in his face, but he switched over to automatic pilot for a moment and instead of coming up with a sharp retort, he muttered a "yes doctor" under his breath. He then turned and glanced around the room. Damn the Cardmaster for not leaving any materials to help stitch Jezebel up, but Cassian knew that it was the master's intention to do that. Of course.

A glance at the marks told him he needed to stop the bleeding and he sighed, somewhat in frustration. Therefore, he did the first thing that came to mind. Knowing it was ruined anyway, Cassian slipped his shirt off and folded it so that he could use it as a cloth. By removing his shirt, he exposed his own upper body, scars marring him down at the sides and a few old scars on his back. They weren't as deep or had been as harsh as Jezebel's were now, but they were the same in some aspects. His chest was still that of a child's, not as muscular, but it was well sculpted for the body's permanent age of a young teenager.

Cassian reached out and placed the cloth on the bloodied back of the doctor, but Jezebel shifted, turning around to face Cassian. "You'll soil yourself."

"Shut up." That was the first time Cassian had talked back – _literally_ talked back – to the doctor and his eyes showed no chance of him apologizing for it. He was just so sick of this; so sick of the doctor going around and pulling these kinds of stunts and looking as if he enjoyed his punishments. The face that was set in solid stone appalled Cassian and he downright _hated _it at times. "It's apparent that you can't take of yourself anyway."

Jezebel fell silent to Cassian's words. It was sometimes easy to forget that the trump card was older than the doctor was, despite the 12-year-old appearance. Jezebel found himself sitting down as Cassian pressed the folded shirt to his back. The doctor's head faced front and his shoulders tensed slightly at the touch before they drooped. Relaxing would help the blood clot faster and then Jezebel wouldn't feel as if he were going to pass out any minute.

Cassian ran the fabric lightly over the wounds and old scars, making sure not to add too much pressure. He'd done this before – not with the doctor but himself – and his hands were used to exerting a certain pressure. He didn't get any complaints from the vigor, but Jezebel's silence wasn't all that trustworthy.

"If this hurts, then tell me, because I know you can't keep silent forever, doctor." Dammit, there he went again.

"It's fine, Cassian," was the pithy response he was given.

Cassian found himself glaring at nothing as he wiped away the blood. Damn the Cardmaster, damn the doctor's selfish attitude, damn it all to hell! Cassian wasn't sure how much more of this he was willing to take. Not only had his own desires been shot down by Delilah's medical advances that couldn't help him, but the one person he'd worked beside and secretly cared for was becoming a selfish puppet of the Cardmaster and it was killing Cassian from the inside out.

Most of the blood was dry by now and Cassian removed the cloth to inspect the scars. There was something about them that seemed weird to Cassian; not like normal scars, despite they appeared that way. What was off... what was off...?

"Your wings are already broken," the trump card muttered. "Your own insanity is consuming you."

"Cassian—"

Cassian ignored the slight interruption. "At this rate, you're going to be murdered like a dog. And by your own father, if that man could even be _considered_ human!" The anger was rushing back again. Why was that? "Why won't you run from him?! What part does he hold that keeps you from leaving?!"

When the trump card received no response, he felt his anger increase, but it was laced with sadness this time and he sighed, as if trying to cool down. Cassian then leaned over, his head almost right beside the doctor's. If he dropped his head, he could rest his chin on Jezebel's shoulder, a move he had never done before. He vaguely wondered how the doctor would react. His voice was now quieter, being closer to the doctor's ear. "Jezebel, if you continue to dwell here, you'll be subject to a master just like me. The Cardmaster is laughing at us; he always is. You're continuing to throw your life away. What is it going to take for you to realize that?"

His whispered voice was harsh and his hot breath tickled Jezebel's ear, blowing a few of his silvery bangs across his line of sight. Cassian hadn't intended to do so to make the position or moment awkward, but it just was. Cassian moved back a little when Jezebel turned his head to look at him, dark black eyes meeting the moonstone ones, locking together while one pair demanded an answer while the others were confused. Perhaps they were both confused and demanding something of the other, even if they didn't realize that.

"What will it take...?" Cassian's words were extremely quiet, almost deadly and it took Jezebel a moment to realize how close that young face was to his, how the warm breath was riding across his cold face like a summer breeze that he hadn't felt in many years. As if on impulse, Jezebel found himself tilting his head slightly, normally seen by society was a confused gesture, but Cassian knew better. Cassian could see the slight innocence reserved for the affection for animals rushing back into the silver eyes and knew immediately that it wasn't a confused gesture, but a detached one that he could see as submission.

"You're such a kid..." And with that, Cassian did something he had never dreamed of doing before. Not since the circus time when the master made his mistress seduce him and he had most certainly _not _hidden the desire – if it at all existed – in the recesses of his mind. But now it was there. The trump card barely had to move before he found himself caught in a spiral, softness against his lips, the feeling of electricity in his blood, and even now a jolt that shot up his small spine. _'Shit...'_

Jezebel was surprised when Cassian had kissed him; there was no doubt that the card had done it on purpose. The doctor's eyes stared into the coal ones, shocked. Did he know what he was doing? Perhaps. Cassian _was_ older, by that by no means meant that he knew the situation. Then again, Jezebel wasn't exactly sure what to make of the situation anyway. Deep inside his mind, back in the dark corners, he found that he enjoyed the contact more than he "enjoyed" the whippings of his father and the "love" his father had for him. Was it truly love? Or was the actual love the doctor wanted here, with Cassian, the only one who could talk to him and snap him out of his day-to-day reveres?

Air became a necessity and Jezebel felt the softness leave him before his eyes registered the trump card pulling away. Cassian took in a sharp breath and found himself moving back, his dark hair falling down in front of his somewhat wide eyes and framing the blush forming on his face. Despite being thirty-five years old, the card still had the 12-year-old body and that body had barely started making the hormones that caused blushing. Thus, he was blushing, regardless of his maturity. _'God damn this body...'_

He didn't quite keep Jezebel's eyes with his own and instead, Cassian went back to cleaning the wounds, soaking up the small trails of blood that were better now compared to the rivers of blood earlier that had soaked through half of the shirt within minutes. Jezebel turned around a little, opening his mouth to question Cassian, inquire as to why he had pulled that stunt, but found himself saying nothing with one look. The trump card didn't regret it. And Jezebel certainly didn't.

"Such a child," he heard the card murmur as the doctor felt the expert hands clean his back. Jezebel turned around to face away from the concentrated dark eyes, the black framed face stained pink, the body of an adult stuck in a lie twisted by God's hand.

"I know."

And then silence fell between them.


End file.
